


Wouldn't You Like To Know?

by AvidReader3019



Series: Pinescone Necromancy AU [2]
Category: Gravity Falls, Over the Garden Wall (Cartoon & Comics)
Genre: Angst, Dipper Pines is a Dork, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Interviews, M/M, Mason "I like to cause problems on purpose" Pines, Necromancy, To Be Edited, probably
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-27
Updated: 2021-01-27
Packaged: 2021-03-12 19:40:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29015973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AvidReader3019/pseuds/AvidReader3019
Summary: Takes place right after the interview. Wirt is confused, excited, consumed with curiosity. Who would wanna interview death? Why is person in question so weird? Why does he get the feeling this was only the beginning? Very few of these questions are answered but a few more come to light.
Relationships: Dipper Pines/Wirt (Over the Garden Wall)
Series: Pinescone Necromancy AU [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1979681
Comments: 2
Kudos: 9





	Wouldn't You Like To Know?

**Author's Note:**

> Wow! So been a bit, huh? I really do have plans for this AU I promise, but uh life happened ya know? Hopefully I'll update this more often? But way more importantly, generalized thanks a million for the support and kindness and just it warms my heart so much every time. Thanks for letting me ramble about my little AU that somehow clawed its way deep into my heart these dorks won't let me go it's becoming the best of problems.

They talk for so long that Wirt has to remind himself to leave. He mostly talked about himself, it was an interview after all, but when the fire died, curiosity sparked and Wirt had enough disbelief in the whole thing being real to ask some questions of his own… The necromancer is an interesting man, weirdly complex. You’d think someone who raises the dead would be pretty predictable: power-hungry, scared of their own mortality, and fiercely fighting against it (futile of course, Wirt’s never missed a soul...) but Dipper. He’s an enigma, Wirt can’t quite put his finger on what it is, but he seems genuinely interested in his work. He’s not looking for power, Wirt might almost say he’s avoiding the idea, he’d assumed ego at first, but no that doesn’t fit either… 

It started when Wirt got antsy, being in the human realm will do that after a while. It’s less a magic thing and more homesickness, an anxiety being somewhere he knows he shouldn’t be, the fear of being caught by his superiors. He spotted a plaque on the wall above the fireplace, a place of honor traditionally if he remembered correctly, so he’d inched closer to get a look. Dipper had gone back upstairs to get more tea and some blankets although Wirt insisted they were unnecessary, so it felt sorta fine to snoop, at least he wouldn’t get caught, probably. It had the look of a diploma, a very specific one, but in lieu of a major or concentration, it read: _Bachelors in Badassery, Communications, and Destruction of Ethics._ Wirt tilted his head and read it over and over, mouthing the words with a growing smile. He rolled his eyes and was met with a surge of warmth, something odd, unfamiliar, much like the cookies they’d had earlier.

Maybe he’d just been alone for a bit too long, but every little detail went from vaguely amusing to attention consuming in no time at all. He wanted to know everything about this man who was able to summon up death _on purpose_ , but stuttered while offering tea. Someone who keeps a lab buried underneath papers, but inexplicably organized. And who apparently has a degree in a place of honor, but he seems to have forged it himself. Half of Wirt’s thoughts started with the word _Why_ for the first time in a long time, maybe ever, and he intended on getting answers, but maybe not all from Dipper, not all at once. Asking him about the plague only resulted in a red tinge to his face (one that Wirt realized he would conquer dimensions to see if only for another moment) and a half-hearted response about being “a real fucking dork. Just thought it’d be funny” His teary eyes and the way his laughed out dismissal came out more like a sob, signaled otherwise, but Wirt didn’t dare pry into the life of the first person to treat him like, well, a person, lest he lose them over not being able to keep his mouth shut. He’s done it for eons, so why is it suddenly so difficult?

And those are only a fraction of the questions playing through his mind as he walks to the portal home.

He doesn’t particularly enjoy conversation, always finding excuses to skip out on any get-togethers and not speaking to souls before he shoves them over to the other side, nothing more than a slight reassurance. He doesn’t want to be doing his job, they don’t want to be here, he’ll never see them again, so it always works out fine, but… this was different. _Dipper_ seems to be different. It has to be the novelty, right? Immortality is really boring and this so-called necromancer is a change of pace… He seems oddly enamored with his work, weirdly into the idea, for a human. Last Wirt checked they hated working, and hated the dark arts more… Death is a whole other level of fear and revulsion, but it’s been a while… Could he really have fallen out of touch? No, this one’s different. Dipper lives alone, he’s got mountains of unpublished papers, mugs scattered on every surface and scribblings jotted down on some walls when it seems he ran out of room. That’s not how anyone usually works, human or not. That was the lair of a desperate man, one nearly broken, and yet still so vibrant and hopeful on the surface. His eyes had a light in them counteracting Wirt’s own suffocating darkness and it took his breath away in more than just the literal sense which was also the case… He’s full of light, _life_ in a way Wirt suspects he should hate, but he just can’t.

Still stuck on his musings, Wirt stumbles out of the portal, and, _yikes_ , he hasn’t felt tired, really, genuinely tired, other than the constant fatigue of existence, for, in well-- ever? Is that right? He tries to deny it but no, yeah, that seems about right. He doesn’t technically _need_ sleep, so it’s not even a physical exhaustion, more of a mental one from socializing longer than he ever has, and here’s the scary part: he _wanted to_. He pointedly ignores the fact that considering an interview to be “socializing” is pretty pathetic.

A living void winds his way through the forest that appears not quite so dark as his form, but definitely, something to make anyone even the higher-ups uneasy… Not that that's anything new. It’s always dark here, an oppressive darkness that reminds you-- in case you'd somehow forgotten-- this is _beyond_ death. It’s the worst-case scenario, a physical manifestation of everywhere you don't want to be. Stepping through that portal for a human would be like losing a loved one after years of warm memories, being thrown into the cold after that last eviction notice, a bone-deep persisting chill that goes deeper than the bones because of the psychological trauma, the absence of warmth and light… and also Wirt’s home.

It’s not much of a home, he knows that, but he’s made do with what there is. He gains speed, gliding over the grass, not quite touching it as it moves out of his way, his deep desire to not hurt anything exerting a force of will he isn’t even aware of.

Eventually, he reaches the little uh building…? dwelling? Something he would have put a little more effort into if he’d known it would be permanent…? he chooses to exist within most of the time, and when he crosses the threshold, instead of the apathy he usually feels, he finds himself longing for the warm fire and soft lighting of the basement he was just in; for cookies and hot drinks and laughter and the warm embrace of a real living being that he’d had after catching the necromancer from falling off a chair. He smiles slightly at the thought.

Dipper, Wirt decides, has to have been encountered before by _someone_ at the office. That level of familiarity in the field means he must have a file by now, and he’d like to check. Not in a creepy way! He’s just curious... and he’s just been subjected to hours' worth of questions, so a quick look to see if there even _is_ a file won't do any harm. He probably won't even read it and it’s not like anyone would find out if he didn’t want them to. No one tends to stand in the way of death if they can help it, and he’s almost shocked at how willing he is to take advantage of that fact. He’s never done it before, and yet… he needs everything he can get his hands on— or no, just find out if a file exists. He won’t read it, he _won’t_ . That would be an invasion of privacy, even if his literal job, his only reason for existing is to read those files, and Dipper’s job is to upset the balance of things meaning he would be required to investigate… There wouldn’t be anything of note, just records of previous infractions, that’s all, so it really doesn’t matter when you think about it. In fact, he might get uh _reprimanded_ (that’s the closest word he can think of that isn’t a synonym for torture) for not reading the file. If he was found slacking when there’s a potential threat…

He shivers and dismisses the shadows. He’s immortal so he can’t die, but he can also endure endless punishment and while making friends with a mortal isn’t exactly a crime he may need to tread lightly. _Wait wait wait, friend?_ He’s getting a few steps ahead of himself, he _just_ met Dipper no way are they friends yet, but they will be. He has spent an eternity meeting everyone's desires, doing a job he doesn’t want, never wanted, to the best of his ability, “yes and” -ing every request without a single protest… He can be selfish for _once_. He’s earned this, centuries of service past and future in exchange for getting a couple of hours every so often in a realm he should be checking up on anyway? The thought of being questioned makes his skin crawl and the shadows writhe along the walls, but he’s committed, determined. And besides, Dipper might not want him as soon as his questions are answered so it won’t be very long, right?

Wirt slides into his desk chair and sighs, this place can barely be called a house, just some wood thrown together by two kids with no idea what they were doing, all confusion and naïve hope. A hope quickly extinguished by this forest, in a way far more literal to one of them... He closes his eyes and counts back from ten until the walls stop shaking and the wind sounds less like screaming.

Nowadays, his magic is the only thing keeping this place together and it _shows_. The walls are all rotting wood and water damaged, there's somehow even less light than there is on the outside; as if to signal anyone who might happen to walk in what kind of creature occupies it, and he’s lived here for as long as he can remember which is a considerable amount of time. It’s all one room with a desk shoved up against the wall and stacks upon stacks of papers and files and reports littering every available surface including the small bed in the corner with nothing on it but a worn blanket from… The Middle Ages? Sometime after? Either way, it’s uh well-loved, hanging on by threads. He winces when he realizes how much of a wreck it’s become in so short a time, so unlike the comfortable home he had just been in, but it didn't always look like this; there used to be casual banter and annoyed eye-rolling and whatever games they could come up with to pass the time until they were able to leave. Funny how neither of them ever did.

Wirt ignores that thought, pushing it firmly away in a box marked _later_ , aka not ever. He leans forward and he really does plan on doing work. He’s not much of a procrastinator, and blames the immortality, he’d rather just get it done and be done and do other things afterward. The time will be used the same way, so might as well just change how it’s organized and leave ample time for reading, well, if he wasn’t normally flooded with assignments right after finishing one, which he usually is. Speaking of which, he tries to fill out the report in his hands, but all he can think about is Dipper. Not like-- just: who is he? Why did he call him there? and just how powerful is he that he can call upon death himself? Granted Wirt thought he died and all he knew was _oh no it’s a necromancer better come in all tense and anxious._ He never would have expected the interview or stuttered offers of comfort, not because he feared death, he simply seemed to be unfamiliar with having guests, something all too easy for Wirt to relate to. 

He spends hours like this, hands hovering just above the keyboard, but mind filled with soft smiles, excited scribblings, the smell of ink and woodsmoke, a dropped pen, and a curse, but all of that tinged with the overwhelming _warmth_. From his easy acceptance of Wirt’s eccentricities to the pictures of family lining the walls to the roaring fireplace and dozens of candles. Everything about Dipper Pines screamed warmth and comfort in a way he couldn’t have possibly anticipated and still can’t quite describe. For the first time in decades, his hands itch for a pen and paper, stanzas constructing themselves in his mind… He gives up on the report and puts it away. Maybe having a look at his file will ease his thoughts? He may not even have a file, but that thought sends a pang of disappointment through him and he tries to reassure himself that they keep files on all necromancers! He thinks. Probably. Come to think of it, when’s the last time he encountered a necromancer? It hadn’t ever been a popular choice of magic skill, seen as “dark” and “evil”, so no one really gave it a proper look, but maybe that had changed? Or maybe Dipper really is as weird as he seems.

He steps through the crack in dimensions and wipes the smile off his face as soon as he enters the office. It’s an uh _interesting_ realm. One he can access from anywhere with ease. It’s between all of the others, intersecting to allow all sorts of creatures to enter, but closer to their respective divisions. There are mostly demons in the portion Wirt frequents because the higher-ups have their own portion of the building needing architecture that’s impossible to look at without getting dizzy and ending up somewhere you shouldn’t be. The more unassuming creatures like Wirt and the demons and such just apparate into a regular looking hall filled with offices and cubicles and typical chit chat. Only the snippets of conversation are less about BBQs and more like ‘oh hey Jeff had his fourth face come in’ and ‘Karin switched out the blades for hands as her eyes. How original.’ (cue dramatic eye roll) and oh wow did they get a promotion? Those talons are incredible!’ Wirt avoids all of them, keeping his eyes firmly planted on the ground in a ‘ _Don’t talk to me. Please don’t talk to me. I’m not here. Ignore me. I’m a shadow, I'm invisible_.

It’s that kind of thinking that draws up his fear aura without his control and makes him even _more_ noticeable so he begs the void to cover him and hurries down to the “infraction” file room. Necromancers’ files are typically here. They mess with the things they shouldn’t and even without realizing it might get on the radar. Anything from typical zombie creation to demon summoning to eldritch cult creation is listed somewhere in the labyrinthian hallways. The room is dimly lit because why put money into bright, electric lighting when everyone who will be using it can see in the dark no problem? Anyone who is unable to can grab a flashlight or something. Wirt is one such being who can in fact see, he’s the embodiment of shadow, his true form is made of darkness and mortal terror, it’d be pretty stupid if he couldn't see in it.

He strides over to the old filing system and finds a computer in its stead. _Huh, that’s new_ . Last he’d checked there was a card system, actually wait no, it was just there were like scrolls, right? Yeah, entire walls full, like that one neat library in Egypt but not burned down or anything. Well, it’s a bit scorched from some of the creatures but the texts are all intact. He wiggles the mouse a bit to set the screen to flicker to life and uh wow they seem to have moved a _lot_ to digital. Wirt was one of the first to start using digital reports because the templates made things so much easier to deal with, but he hasn’t seen it used. He didn't know if anything was coming through, just took a lack of interference as sign enough. He’s a bit out of touch with this space, but not with technology in general, he reads, keeps up with everything, if he’s falling behind he can sometimes get a pull from the memories of the souls he’s transporting learning how to use the new tech like he’d been born with it. It makes things easier, but it’s horrible to just look in someone’s mind like that so he’s only done it a handful of times.

He types in “necromancer” and gets oh, okay, alrighty. That’s _wayyy_ too many results. _Let’s try this again._ He types in “Dipper” this time, hoping there aren’t a lot of "Dipper"s in their records, there shouldn’t be it’s a really weird name and _success!_

_Oh, that’s weird._ He’s got the number, but it isn’t a specific file? It’s an uh a section is listed. He hasn’t been here in a while. Maybe they decided to factor in each and every report as an individual was a waste of time? Either way, _Dipper has a file_ . Wirt, ignoring his earlier promise to not look, weaves his way through the stacks to find a secluded “U” shaped formation of filing cabinets. Appropriately modern... so it’s probably the right guy and it’s not covered in dust like a lot of the room so this is definitely recent. _Intriguing_ . Wirt starts with the leftmost section and while most of the cabinets have an A-J or some sort of variation of letters, there’s one a couple down just marked “Dipper Pines” Wirt’s eyebrows raise. _Does that mean…_

He slowly opens the top drawer on the cabinet and frantically skims the files. Every single paper in there has Dipper’s name at the top in various handwriting and _oh what the--_ It’s full. From top to bottom all of the drawers are filled with reports. Wirt returns to the top, gears in his mind whirring when he finds a disclaimer in the first spot that reads: “Not all just infractions, but it was easier to just have all the reports in one place. Have fun digging.” Wirt blinks and immediately knows what he’s going to be doing for, hell, the next few weeks if it takes that long.

_He has a whole cabinet, has anyone ever had that?_ Wirt is willing to bet that’s a solid no. How on-- How would someone even-- _What the hell did he do?_

It only takes a few hours to get halfway through the reports and honestly _how has this guy not died a million times over?_ At some point another creature comes in that Wirt recognizes as one of the main people in charge of filing, or at least, he thinks they are, still, probably... It's been a while since he's been in here.

When they see him, all seventeen of their eyes widen and linger on his shadows which are writhing in what some would consider a menacing way, but is actually nervousness and excitement all rolled into one. They try to walk right back out, but Wirt calls out to them. "Hey wait! Why did no one tell me about this?"

They turn back and fix him with confused stares. "Tell you about what?"

Wirt gestures towards all the papers surrounding him. " _This!_ All of this! The fact that there was a necromancer regularly causing world-altering problems! Did no one think I should be informed about that!? That's my main responsibility and I just found out!"

Their eyebrows raise. "Wirt, sweetie, when is the last time you think you were here?"

He runs a hand along the back of his neck and frowns. "I uh, I know it's been a while--"

They snort before catching themselves, trying to cover it with a cough. "Try _centuries_. No one told you because you haven't been here." They shrug. "We figured you'd moved on with all the other older beings and decided not to get directly involved anymore."

Wirt is reeling for a moment. _It's been that long?_ He shifts uncomfortably. "I see. That's a perfectly reasonable assumption, then, I guess. Sorry to uh bother you."

They nod and go to leave before leaning back in the doorway. "Hey, Wirt?"

He hums an affirmative without looking up, hands fluttering along the papers, tongue sticking out in concentration trying to decipher some of the more _odd_ incidents.

They look him over with all their eyes crinkling into a genuine smile. "It's good to have you back."

Wirt fidgets with his sleeves and nods. “Yeah it's good to be back, I guess, though, I didn’t realize I’d been gone really uh I’m sorry for if there was any uhm worry or anything.”

All of their eyes roll in a dizzying motion and they retreat, leaving Wirt alone once again. 

Centuries of not being here shouldn’t really mean much, not in an office of immortals, but it’s still a little jarring that he didn’t realize. It also helps him understand Dipper a bit more. He hasn’t had to deal with any tampering with mortality in at least that long, but Dipper is clearly no stranger to his craft. He’s the opposite of an amateur, not that he expected him to be, but there is a certain leap between “Hey I’m Dipper and I do necromancy research” and “I’ve been screwing with forces I shouldn’t have been for ages and on a daily basis no less.” that Wirt hadn’t made. He couldn’t have learned from anyone with it being literal centuries since the last one with that much power and drive, so how did he get so good?

Wirt sighs. He’s learned a hell of a lot about the necromancer if nothing else, like conducting his own interview, but there are still more questions than answers. Dipper seems to not have any rhyme or reason to his research like one would expect, no power grabs, no search for everlasting youth... In fact, the files seem to suggest a chaotic mess of quick, but intense interests. He moves on and pulls out the next report skimming over it: 

_Cthulhu called in a complaint about Dipper for, once again, beating him at cards. We aren’t sure what to do since his consenting to the game means it should be not-our-problem, but he lost several precious minerals and won’t stop calling. We tried to get ahold of the necromancer, but he doesn’t seem to answer his phone ever, so it’s been impossible._

_Update: Management says we have the budget to just give Cthulhu replacement minerals. We need the bottom floors to stop filling with water and for everyone in the budgeting department to stop being plagued with nightmares, so we have decided to give in to his demands. If anyone ever gets ahold of the necromancer, tell him we put this on his tab and that he may want to consider indentured servitude at this point._

Wirt pulls a hand down his face and starts laughing. A deep, genuine laugh, something so rare in a building like this that several people come in and stare at him with curious eyes, but he can’t help it, can’t stop once he’s started until there are tears in his eyes and he’s doubled over. This mortal, this regular wizard, a dime a dozen nowadays, has zero fear of the darkest of creatures and even less fear of judgment for his work. Wirt wants to know _everything_ and not just because of this.

He’ll be doing more interviews for sure, he was going to anyway, but wow, after this… Dipper is one of a kind, like nothing he’s ever seen and he has a firmly established professional curiosity at this point. _How on earth did he get this far? Why is he like this? Can they play poker together so Wirt can see the kind of expert maneuvers that conned Cthulhu out of their riches?_

He regarded Dipper like he would have any human earlier, but with a touch more softness and openness, even going so far as to reveal his human form, but he apparently should have been much more cautious or maybe menacing. That’s the biggest issue: all of this is so hilarious and ridiculous that Wirt keeps forgetting he’s supposed to be angry, seething, ready to kill the upstart who dared to mess with _his_ realm, but he admires the boldness, the challenge more than anything. A sense of competition is stirred that he’s never felt before along with that damned fondness for the man who showed him kindness the likes of which he’s never seen. All stemming from a fearlessness he didn’t know was possible, certainly hasn’t experienced himself.

Wirt resolves to go see Dipper the next day, he can easily send an email to his superiors about getting more time in the human realm and he’s never asked for anything so they damn well better approve it. See, they’re his _superiors_ technically, and he’s always listened, never caused any trouble, but he’s also never pushed his abilities, and some days he wonders what would happen if he did. _Dipper_ makes him almost feel brave enough to consider it and he doesn’t even know him yet, not really. Wirt stays for a few more hours before deciding to head back home, but is faced with a ring of uh coworkers? A group of lesser demons that are honestly less powerful than most mortals, who run the records department block his way out.

“Oh uh hey guys~ W-what’s going on.”

“Wirt?” They’re staring at him, jaws dropped, if they have jaws and eyes wide if they have eyes or an eye. 

“Yes?”

“It’s you, you’re here?”

The air around them freezes as Wirt puts his hands up in a placating gesture. “Look okay I know it’s been a while... I just-- You know how you get distracted and lose track of time? Yeah, it was like that, but imagine you only lose track of time in one place? I know you’ve seen the reports I’ve definitely been doing things! I just haven’t been here specifically in a while... I got all set up to work at home and just forgot to come by the records department I guess... “ He sighs and looks down, eyes casting rainbows but more like the kind in oil, along the floor. “I’m sorry I haven’t been by but I mean you didn't need me or anything I'm sure it was like less pressure and all...”

One of the ones he sort of recognizes, Jenny? Is that their name? Rushes forward and wraps him in about twenty tentacle-like appendages. “Nooo! We missed you so much! Us nerds gotta take care of each other.”

Another being surges forward in that same moment to punch him in the jaw, somehow bypassing the tentacle things. “What the hell, Wirt! Don’t you ever pull that shit again! If I had to deal with one more cult report on my own I swore I was gonna drag you out of whatever hole you crawled into no matter how angry you got, even if you killed me, which reminds me.” They turn to the rest of the assorted crew while Wirt’s shadows surge to his face to heal the damage. “You have to pay up, knuckleheads, I was right!”

Wirt peeks out from behind the tentacles still enshrouding him. “Right about what, exactly?”

“Oh! LKKDL’JW said you were just hiding writing poetry somewhere while the rest of us figured you were gone for good. We owe how much?”

“Three vacation days each.” They grin with far more teeth than should be able to fit in any kind of mouth while everyone else groans, all except Wirt who is torn between pain and guilt, wincing a little from both

There’s assorted grumbling and a few shuffle away to go do the transfer while Wirt looks up at Jenny? “What was that all about?”

Jenny? looks down and sighs. “Well, you’re the only one of the major entities that checks up on us... “

Wirt shakes his head furiously. “I’m not a major--”

“Shut up, yes you are dimwit, as I was saying, you’re the only one who even uses this department. Budget cuts have been _harsh_ since you left because we were just here to collect dust. Sure, everyone has to file the reports it’s required to keep a record, but no one reads them so for all they care there could be an infinitely deep bucket in a corner and everyone could just throw them in there. We need you here.”

“Oh. I didn’t realize.” _Wow, way to be a jerk_. His mind whispers in the all too familiar way. “Why doesn’t anyone use the records? They don’t just go in blind--”

“Wirt I swear it’s like you forget you’re not human.”

“Well, no, I’m all too aware of that, but---”

“Most of us have magic more powerful than they could conceive of, not to mention the whole immortality schtick, other than us anyways and that’s why we stay here in the first place.”

“But it’s horribly inefficient! And unsubtle to just go around blasting people into another dimension or something…”

“Yeah, but it gets the job done when need be, so what’s the harm?”

They look genuinely confused so Wirt drops it with a “nevermind” and moves to leave. “Thanks for the uh,” He makes a vague hand gesture towards the small group. “Everything.”

He hurries out, shadows still large and menacing behind him, fangs piercing into his lower lip from the defensive state triggered from the punch. He sighs trying to hunch in on himself and hide it. He can’t help but dwell on what Jenny? said earlier.

Since when is he considered a major entity? He’s just a guy, just a guy doing a job he doesn’t want with very little understanding of what exactly he even is. That’s it. He still sees himself as the little kid scrambling through the woods to find a way out, desperately searching while his brother got weaker and weaker, and after he was gone— being pulled into a darkness so pure that he still hasn’t escaped it and knows he never will. 

It’s a part of him now, it envelops his soul, has taken over him completely. Wirt pauses. Remembering the crushing feeling as he was changed, can remember it more clearly than anything else. The cold that became his normal, the lack of light, the chilling fear and scarring that he’ll never escape. 

It defined him, he didn’t know at the time of course because if he had he would have never left that night… 

* * *

**[Eons before…]**

He’s not sure where he is or how he got here if he came from anywhere at all. His earliest memory is moments ago: waking up, confused, not sure of who he is, and surrounded by nothing but darkness... What is darkness? Is there an alternative to this? He isn't sure how he knows anything at all. 

He shivers in the cold and wonders what he's supposed to be doing. Is he supposed to be doing anything? Yes. That feels right. He has something to do, something he should be doing, proving… But what?

He frowns and feels around the area, fingers gliding over dirt and pine needles? beneath him. _What am I supposed to be doing?_ He is filled with this sense of purpose but has nowhere to focus it and he starts clutching at the needles beneath him. _Why can’t I remember? What’s going on? Where the hell am I?_

His breathing gets faster and he cries out, trying to relieve some of the building emotion inside him. He doesn’t even know what emotion is, has no experience with it, and yet he knows. _How does he know!?_ The pain from trying to sort between knowing and not knowing-- knowing things but having no experience, no familiarity, no memory to back the knowledge-- is unbearable, and yet he must bear it. The experience is dizzying, or maybe that’s the hyperventilating… 

He tries to steady himself, taking deep breaths through somewhere else, another place, not where he’d _been_ taking in air. _Why had he been doing that?_ He doesn’t think he needs to do that, air is not a necessity, so why would he-- 

He ignores the question after a splitting pain in his skull, changing how he takes in the air with no thought at all. There’s a certain shift in the senses. It’s not an empty experience like the last time, there’s something else. When he takes it in, it calms him, lowers his heart-rate. _What’s a heart and why do I have one? Do I? Should I?_ It steadies his breathing. _Scent_ The knowledge that seems to be a part of him, supplies. He tries to stop questioning it, it hurts too much. The scent though… It’s nice. He likes this, it isn’t overwhelming, not like everything else.

Why did it take so long to come up with that and not the other things he knows? Maybe because he’d been thinking about it? Does he need to not think to learn? That doesn’t make any sense. His head is spinning with questions, but pushes them away, just keeps focusing on breathing in… out… On the scent, and realizes the term for it is pine.

It’s nice, relaxing, and the only comforting thing he has in his first moments, so he files it away in his memory, grips onto it, speaking of which... He slowly brings up a question wincing in preparation for the pain, but it doesn’t come. He lets out a breath. Okay, one at a time seems to be fine. He isn’t sure, well, of anything really, but he doesn’t feel like the memories are missing... more like: there’s a place clean and open and ready for them to go, but they’re not there yet. It feels wrong because he knows that knowing things requires experience, but it’s like he was just like someone shoved a bunch of random things into his head that he’d need to function, and a few others that seem irrelevant, and nothing about where or why he’s here.

He’s getting increasingly frustrated when he hears a noise to his left, a shuffling, a rustling of bushes, and again he knows what those look like, knows what they’re called, but he’s never seen one and wait why can’t he see? He should be able to see, that’s normal, he’s missing one of his senses and he’s going to panic again. In… out… The rustling turns into a voice. 

“Oh! Hey, are you new? You seem like one of the new ones! Wow, sorry we hadn’t found you yet, someone’s supposed to be here when you’re formed… Wait why haven’t you--" There's a pause and more shuffling and then a poking on his face? _Does he have a face?_ "Hey, Jaksii I think this one’s broken, we may need to make a new one we were a little late...” He finds it in himself to speak, he can do that? What language is this? Languages? Plural? _Are there others? Why does he think there are others--_ “No I’m not broken? Why would you think that?” 

“Then why haven’t you opened your eyes yet?”

“Oh. I uh.” He isn’t sure why he feels whatever this is-- wrong? Unsatisfactory? Embarrassed, that's the word. He hadn’t even existed a few seconds ago and yet this is what they focus on. Well if he’d known he had eyes he’d probably have opened those up, it’s not like he wanted to be in the dark! But he still hasn’t opened his eyes… doesn’t really want to so uhm maybe he does maybe he would rather--? On some subconscious level does he find the lack of light comforting? No that’s _wrong_ . What the hell _is_ he that darkness would be comforting? Is he-- No. He doesn't want to be that. Shadows are to be feared, he knows that much instinctively but having the onslaught of information narrowed down to one less input... It had been nice, helpful to get his thoughts in order before bringing in anything new. It feels better this way, he knows it’s more… peaceful relaxing to be in the dark. No responsibilities there... Why is he--?

A cleared throat brings his thoughts back to his surroundings, to the being near him, disappointed already, and he slowly starts to open his eyes. He tries not to think about it because the second he thinks ‘I'm gonna open my eyes now’ it becomes an impossible task just like the questions. He can’t do things consciously yet. He just has to let instinct take over and then maybe he’ll be able to just do things when he wants to, eventually? He sure hopes that'll be the case.

* * *

Years, eternities, eons, Wirt has no way to be sure how long he’s spent wandering the woods, getting a feel for them, learning the layout and the inhabitants. One of them even pulled him aside and explained the basics: how this is essentially an interview, a discovery of his inclinations… He decided on a name for himself, Wirt just felt right somehow? He’s not sure why, he’s not sure about most things.

It was around this time that he stumbled upon Gregory, just some kid wandering the woods (a kid doesn’t belong here…) one that quickly became so much more than that. Wirt sees him as an opportunity, perhaps his saving grace, he had learned a lot in those years and wished to show that to someone else, so maybe they wouldn't feel as hopelessly lost and confused as he did for so long. That’s his purpose he thinks and the next few years are spent with a lighter heart and a sense of fulfillment he’d never hoped to dream of…

Of course, it didn’t last very long. He barely remembers the exact circumstances, all the good memories are bright in his mind even after all these years, building their home, playing in the woods, helping out anyone they came across… The darker things are a little fuzzier, harder to discern. His life has been consumed by the darkness he once found comforting and would now give anything to escape and so the guilt, the horror, the regret… It all blends in with every other time he’s felt that way, but he remembers a voice, a shadow. All too sweet in a way he should have known was a trap but didn’t until he came home to a broken door and his brother gone. The last time he saw him there was something he can’t remember, he suspects an argument, he had to leave for a reason, but there was howling wind, an expanse covered in something he would call snow for the longest time until he found out snow was the opposite color. Snow wasn’t darker than the abyss and not quite this cold. He stumbled through the inky substance for hours, perhaps days…

There are words that echo in his mind, now just as they did then. _You’ve chosen well… Reaper._ He’d wondered what could that mean? Reaper… as in farming? That didn’t seem too bad. He figured he could do that, boring, but maybe he can grab a few hobbies in his spare time, right? Honestly, he was just happy to be leaving, to have found his purpose in this interview of sorts, and finally be given an out. He’s a hard worker, he could understand why they’d put him in that specific area. Nights to relax and days spent harvesting? Not at all the horror he’d expected...

The same voice the one that haunts his nightmares returned coming from all around him, inside his head, the trees, _Oh you’ll be a fun one, delightfully ignorant. I can’t wait for you to join us so soon._ Then there was laughing, sinister, it sent a chill down his spine that quickly consumed him. He was freezing, no, wait, _burning_ now. He was burning, but it was still cold, too cold. Not like ice, not like when he fell in a nearby lake in the winter and crawled back out, shivering in front of their pathetic sputtering fire for days on end, no, this is not a feeling, but rather the absence of feeling. A lack of heat, of warmth, of hope... He felt all the blood disappear from his veins in an instant as his humanoid form twisted into something much darker.

He’d looked down, unable to hold his head up any longer, and his shadow was gone. Not a priority considering the pain, but he had a brief wondering about where it could have gone. He’s never felt anything like this, isn’t sure anyone else has either.

The voice came back, but different this time, it was screaming, wailing in agony, echoing off the surroundings, but then he’d realized, no, the sound was far deeper and decidedly less wicked than before, more pained than he remembered it being. More distinct, real, less ethereal. _It’s his own._

At the thought, he dropped to his knees, his hands grinding into the Earth. He laughed bitterly, but with his teeth clenched from the pain it came out as more of a hiss. _Pine needles_. After all this time, he’d come back to exactly where he started. Only, instead of coming out of darkness, he was going back in, becoming a part of it, or maybe, it’s becoming a part of him. He couldn’t tell who belongs to who in the moment and hasn’t figured it out since.

Afterward, he’d laid on the bed of pine needles, waiting until he could feel himself again. Not as a ball of pain, but as a person with limbs and thoughts and a physical form. He’d spent so long as a scattered consciousness, a living void…. He hadn’t realized it wasn’t temporary. He dragged himself back to the very house he still lives in and wept until being given his first assignment and, well, the rest is in myth, legend, folklore, every culture knows death as a personification even if it’s no longer acknowledged as based in any sort of fact.

* * *

Wirt shakes off the memories, good at compartmentalizing after the trauma of centuries, and steps through the portal and watches the necromancer nearly fall off his chair in surprise. Well, it's not like he could have called from another plane of existence. 

"Wirt? What are you uh--" His eyes widen. "Oh." He scrambles to stand back up and Wirt watches trying to get a read for what he could possibly be-- "Look, I uh it's I get if you have to uh kill me or whatever but could you give me like a few more days to get my paper finished? I, you said the interview was fine and I totally understand if you found out that it wasn't, but hey you seem to not be as uh strict I guess, so just let me-- Oh! we could make a deal or something that's a thing, right? I don't play fiddle or anything, but I do have more of those cookies, but this time _I_ baked them so no glitter, and I wouldn’t wanna brag but they’re actually edible and have a nice group of flavor combinations--"

"Dipper, what? No, I'm not-- I just came to..." Wirt trails off. He's not entirely sure what he came for, to be honest. He wanted to ask about the fact that Dipper has an _entire section of the office dedicated to reports about him_ , but he probably shouldn't have just shown up. He doesn't even know Dipper very well, they just met, and his shadows start to get more agitated as his apprehension grows. "Just forget about-- I'm sorry to bother you I should be going." 

He turns and steps back, but Dipper gets in his way. "No, you're fine! I was just uh it's not everyday death literally comes knocking at your door. After all, we talked about I should have known-- I'm sorry. I made a mistake. If you just wanted to, uhm I mean I wouldn't assume again, sorry, but if you just wanted to clear some things up I'd love to help. I kind of did most of the questioning which isn’t fair probably, and I never answered you fully..."

Wirt brightens, a little too desperate to cling to the excuse. "Yeah, that's exactly, I uh I had to do a follow-up." He coughs. "Paperwork and all since you turned out to be alive, yeah that's why I'm, yeah. Yep. Yes. That’s why I’m here..."

"Oh." Dipper smiles. "Well in that case--" He grabs his notebooks and gestures towards the basement. Wirt hadn't even realized he'd entered closer to the front door this time, _weird_. Maybe because Dipper is in here? But, even then he should have come through the same intersection of dimensions, it's not like those things are everywhere.

Wirt follows him into the same cozy room as last time and watches Dipper rub his hands together, shivering. He can't feel any colder than he already does, but with the stone walls and it being so far underground he can imagine. Dipper moves over to start the fireplace. 

Wirt just expects him to do it the same way as last time, seems to make a reasonable amount of sense, so he sits on the couch, preparing to wait a little while, but instead of using a lighter, Dipper conjures a ball of fire the size of his fist, to hover over his hand for only a moment before he throws it. An otherworldly green lights up a self-satisfied smirk giving off the same spooky effect of lighting a flashlight below your face, and Wirt would almost be impressed if not for the fact that Dipper nearly collapses afterward.

He raises an eyebrow and tries to help the necromancer onto the couch, but he’s waved off. "It's been a long day, alright? Don't think-- This is _not normal._ I uh I've been looking into some things and summoning takes a lot out of me." Wirt nods and sits back, to Dipper's apparent relief. He twirls a pen from somewhere? biting his lip before drinking some kind of transparent, aquamarine-colored liquid out of a vial that Wirt hadn't noticed when he came in. He shudders, but is back to a nervous smile in no time as he sits across from Wirt. "What did you need to know?"


End file.
